


Late at Night

by underthenorthstar



Series: Tumblr Fics [10]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotions, F/M, Implied Casual Sex, Margrethe is only mentioned in passing, Modern AU, Open Relationship, Songfic, because I love to cause pain, just a big pile of ubbe angst and feels, late night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: You and Ubbe have been partaking in some no strings attached, late night activities. But things might not be as casual as you once thought they were.Loosely inspired by the song "My Type" by The Chainsmokers ft Emily Warren





	Late at Night

**Author's Note:**

> TW: angst, open relationship, Implied casual sex

"You aren't staying."

He sighs, and you can see the tension bunching in his bare shoulders. It's a stupid statement; he never stays. He always takes a cab not long after the deed is done. Back home. Back to her.

It shouldn't hurt but it does.

"We've talked about this," he says, and his voice is slow and laced with alcohol. He's never sober. It's always late and he's always tipsy. 

You clutch the sheets closer around you, as if they can protect your heart. "I know, but....I feel like I don't even know you. We spend so much time together, know each other's bodies so well, yet I hardly know your mind. Your heart."

He lets out a snort, reaching down to grab his discarded jeans. "If I recall properly, we both mutually agreed to not go there. You told me you could do this, that this was your type of relationship. That I was your type of man."

You can't deny his words aren't true. When you first met him, the club dark and the air thick with the scent of lust and dark deeds, he had laid everything bare before you. Sex. No emotions. No intimate details. He and his wife had an arrangement and he was looking to cash in on it. You were good with that. Relationships were complicated, and you were looking for something easy and fun. 

And at first, it was. The sex was mind blowing, and you never had to worry about the awkward morning after. You were well satisfied, and there was no drama.

But, as time passed and he came to your bed more and more, you couldn't help but want to know him. Little bits of his personality began slipping through the cracks of the walls he had erected, and they left you hungry like a wolf in winter. You could tell he had a gentle heart; he would always tuck you in before he left. He had a sense of humour; sometimes the more drunken sex was giggly and fun. Your bodies knew each other well, were completely compatible, and it made you wonder if your hearts would be, too. 

"It was...it is...but," you struggle for the words. 

He stands up, pulling up his jeans and turning around. His handsome face is weary, like the weight of the world sits on those broad shoulders you enjoy so much. 

"Don't do this," he says quietly, and your heart gives a lurch at the emotion in his voice. "Don't make this complicated. We have a good thing here, darling. Don't ruin it."

"Why are you even with her?" You blurt out, unable to help yourself. "You spend more time in my bed then in your own. I know you must not be sleeping with her much, you are always so eager to have me."

"Because I love her," he says automatically, but there is no passion in his voice. The few times she is mentioned, the words fall flat, like sinking stones in a rushing river. Not like when your name spills from his lips, when he whispers it into your flesh like a sacred prayer. "And because....well, frankly, it's none of your business."

But you watch his face change, see the bone deep ache that resonates across it like a clanging gong. 

You wonder what it's like to love someone who loves you but also desires another. What must it feel like, to know your love is not enough? 

"Ubbe," you reach out your arms, willing him to come into them. You no longer care about casual. In this moment, you want to be his shelter, his safety. You want to hold him to your breasts and soothe his pain. You wonder when things changed, when no string attached became iron tethers between you and him.

But he will not show weakness. He turns his back on you, pulls on his shirt. With every inch of skin that disappears, your spirit dies a little bit more.

"I have to get going," he says, taking a step away from the bed and towards the door. "She'll be waiting up for me."

You want to beg him to stay. You want to crawl out of bed, fall to you knees, and plead with him to spend the night in your arms. But, you know there is no point. He doesn't stay, and he never will. 

"Aren't you at least going to tuck me in?" You whisper, soft and fragile. He hesitates; the whole world teeters on the edge of a knife. Your breath seems to stick in your throat. 

But then he is walking around the bed, and you find yourself letting out a sigh of relief as you sink back into the mattress. He pulls the duvet up, tucking it around you with gentle hands. He doesn't look at your face. 

"Goodnight," you say into the cold silence that hangs in the air. It's always goodnight, never good morning. You wish you could see him in sunlight instead of moonlight. He wasn't meant for the wan light and inky blackness. He was meant for golden beams and the break of a new day across the awakening sky. Her territory, her kingdom. 

You close your eyes, unable to look at him any longer. Everything is too much and yet not enough. You expect to hear him leaving, instead, there's the rustling of the bedsheets as he leans down across you. Warm lips press themselves against your forehead, sweet and more than a little bit sad.

"Pleasant dreams, darling," his voice is strained, but not like he is upset with you. Like he is struggling with himself. Fighting the need to flee, wrestling with the urge to stay. It comforts you a tiny bit to know this isn't easy for him, that his feelings may be changing too. But, that also makes it ten times worse. 

Ubbe's lips leave your forehead with a small, pained exhale, and you know your night together is over. His heavy footfalls cross the room, pausing only briefly at the door. One second, two seconds....and then he is gone. 

You know this isn't over. Your phone will buzz again in a few nights, when no one else is awake and the moon reigns. It will say the same thing as always- "I need you. Can I come over?". You will craft your same reply- "Of course. Door is open." And you'll fall into bed once more, a jumbled mess of two people who can never have what they may want but are too self destructive to quit. You'll keep picking at that scab, opening that wound; you can't help it. He's an itch you are dying to scratch, a drug you can't get off of. A toxic concoction that, despite the pain you know is looming (is already here, really), you'll gulp down with a vengeful thirst. 

Because as much as you hate to admit it, he really is your type.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr, same username underthenorthstar


End file.
